


Fleeting

by ziskandra



Category: Mass Effect Andromeda
Genre: F/F, now with art!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23153776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: Sloane’s not much of an idealist, but when she looks at Jien Garson, she feels like she could be.Stolen moments before the launch of the Andromeda Initiative.
Relationships: Sloane Kelly/Jien Garson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5
Collections: Spectre Requisitions 2020





	Fleeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kahika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahika/gifts).



> Thank you for the prompt! It's always great to see some love for these two amazing ladies _and_ being able to (loosely) incorporate the events of Nexus Uprising. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> ETA: Now featuring art by the amazingly talented [la_la_lere](https://twitter.com/la_la_lere) on Twitter!

Sloane’s not much of an idealist, but when she looks at Jien Garson, she feels like she could be. That’s the draw of their enigmatic leader: Garson can make someone believe they can be become better than they are. Make society better than it is.

_Hope_. It’s a tantalizing word for someone who’s never had anything else to believe in before. Garson looks her in the eyes, though, and sees Sloane, right into the depths of her soul, and makes her think she just might be worth something after all.

She’s going to work like hell to prove her right. Mouth dry, Sloane murmurs her acceptance of the offered position. _Yes,_ she says.

Garson’s dark eyes light up with delight. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

Sloane’s mouth curls into a wry smile. "See if you say that again six hundred years from now.”

Garson’s gaze hardens although her trademark smile never falters. Resting a hand upon the crook of Sloane’s elbow, she reinforces her stance with the utmost certainty. “Oh, I will.”  
  
As Sloane watches Garson walk away she can still feel the warmth of the other woman’s touch upon her arm, despite the layers upon layers of clothing that had separated their bodies.

It was nothing, she tells herself. Nothing, yet only the most intimate contact she’s received in years. Sloane can’t afford to fuck up this opportunity, and yet she already knows she’s screwed.

*

In the early days, her glimpses of Garson are brief. Why wouldn’t they be? The woman is a multi-billionaire, an eccentric entrepreneur, relentlessly charming, everything that Sloane Kelly is most decidedly _not_. It’s the genuine kindness that radiates off the other woman in waves that disarms Sloane the most. She’s used to avoiding politickers, the schmoozers and the boot-lickers, but there’s nothing about Jien Garson that indicates she doesn’t mean everything she says, that betrays anything less than the utmost confidence in all they’re doing.

People could use that certainty, Sloane thinks. With so much unrest in the galaxy, it’s refreshing to have something worth believing.

It’s at the end of a debriefing where Garson’s hugging everyone goodbye, her usual habit, a press of the cheek, a fleeting embrace, when she whispers against Sloane’s ear, “we’re more alike than you think, you and I.”

Sloane takes a step back to process the words, brow furrowing. “What?”

Garson grips Sloane’s shoulder tightly, flashes her another one of those enigmatic smiles. “We want to belong somewhere.”

The moment is over as soon as it has begun, but Sloane finds herself replaying those words in her mind over and over in the coming months.

Where did she belong?

Maybe in Andromeda, with Garson, with everyone. 

*

_Work hard, party hard_. It had been something of a motto in the squads she’d served in during her Alliance days, and the Initiative was proving no different. There’s fifteen-or-so high-ranking officials standing over blueprints in a room that can barely contain them all.

Sloane’s sure their headquarters contain more spacious meeting locations, but she suspects Garson prefers things this way. Cozier. They’re standing shoulder to shoulder. As Sloane leans in to inspect the documents, she finds for the first time that she has nothing to add. “It’s complete,” she states, never a woman of many words, knowing that it goes without saying that she’s looking at this all through the lens of the Nexus’s Security Director.

Even though Sloane can’t see Garson’s face, she knows she’s smiling.

That damned smile.

“Our dream comes one step closer to fruition today,” their leader says, and although there’s barely any movement in the room, Sloane can almost visualize everyone’s shoulders sagging in relief. Their mission lives on to fight another day. Everyone present is a dreamer, but she knows for most of them, that the dream is tempered by realism, by the haunting specter of possible failure.

Of course, Garson is the exception to the rule. Her shoulders would never slump. She would never falter. She is going to see their vision through.

The blueprints are collected, the meeting closed, but nobody motions to leave. The number of people in the room increases instead of dwindles as champagne is delivered and bottles are popped and they celebrate another month of hard work. Sloane knows similar festivities are taking place in different teams all around the world. She’s just fortunate enough to be in this one, right now, with Garson.

It’s fancy shit, not the kind of alcohol Sloane’s used to drinking, but it does the job just as well. Everyone’s a happy wreck as they start to peel away, often in twos, until she’s left standing with just Garson in near-companionable silence.

For the better or the worse the weight of the air between them is too heavy to be platonic, and Sloane’s keenly aware this is the first time they have been truly alone since her last interview for the Initiative.

Garson turns at the same time Sloane does, and their eyes meet. The other woman’s usually tidy hair is plastered to the sides of her face, and Sloane doesn’t know what Garson sees when she looks at her. She must be a fucking mess, just like everyone else, and yet Garson’s gaze never fails to pierce her soul. Like her scars and her fronts and the walls she’s built don’t _matter_.

For once, Garson’s not smiling. Instead, she’s wetting her lips, like her mouth’s suddenly dry, or, or, _or_ as though Sloane’s attention has been lingering on said mouth for longer than what’s proper and before she can process precisely what’s happening, Garson’s hands are cupping the sides of Sloane’s face before pulling her down into a kiss.

It’s briefer than Sloane could have imagined ( _had_ she been dreaming about such a thing) and sooner than she’d like, Garson is steeping away, backing out of Sloane’s personal space, hands held up in apology.

“Forgive my exuberance,” she starts, but Sloane takes the rare opportunity to interrupt her. Usually she’s more than happy to listen to the other woman talk. Could do so for hours.

But not today.

“I’m not complaining,” Sloane states simply, and as though to reiterate her position she surges forward, unsteady on her feet. “I _liked_ it.” Would do more, if Garson approved.

The other woman nods her assent and Sloane takes it as invitation as she buries her hands in Garson’s hair, positioning herself to kiss the other woman with fervor, to relish the motions of her body against her own.

It is but a fleeting moment of bliss. Sloane likes to think she’s not foolish enough to regard it anything more than that, more than it could be, but she’ll take her chances where she can.

_Hope_.

That’s what Garson inspired in them, wasn’t it?

Maybe Sloane was an idealist after all.

*

Their next moment alone doesn’t come it’s almost too late, not until they’re the last two standing at the end of their lives in the Milky Way, staring down the beginning of their new adventure. She watches as Garson settles into her stasis pod, barely registers their back-and-forth as she wonders if this is the time to say something, anything, string together words that were worth listening to.  
  
“Andromeda. What do you hope to find there?” Garson asks, with that earnest, piercing gaze, and Sloane’s heart jumps into her throat. Her brain stutters, and by the time she can answer the moment is gone. Fleeting. She stumbles an answer, mutters a joke, smiles as she seals Garson away for her six-hundred-year slumber. Tries to avoid the feeling of being punched in the gut that comes with the way Garson’s face had fallen when Sloane had rebuffed her question. The perfect response is so clear to her now.

_To belong, you idiot. To build a better galaxy._

On the other side, things would be different. 

She hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof. Hope that ending wasn't too tragic ♥. TBH, part of me likes to imagine this work being followed up by a nice and happy 'Jien didn't die AU', which someone with more energy than me should definitely write one day!


End file.
